


so honey please, don't let go

by queerheda



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Communication Issues, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of blood and violence, gokudera does not know how to deal with anything but he's trying, referenced past suicide attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23715769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerheda/pseuds/queerheda
Summary: "He has water in his eyes so his vision is somewhat impaired, but he thinks Hayato is shivering."Business is sometimes bloody, but at least they have each other.
Relationships: Gokudera Hayato/Yamamoto Takeshi, briefly referenced d18
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	so honey please, don't let go

**Author's Note:**

> Catch me writing KHR in 2020. This is The Most Self-indulgent Thing I've ever written. 
> 
> I haven't read or watched KHR in years so this is literally just a dozen headcanons pretending to be a fic. 
> 
> Title from In the Heat of the Moment by Noel Gallagher's High Flying Birds

Takeshi knew Tsuna would be waiting for him, and he's not surprised to see Squalo leaning on a tree ten or so meters behind. Tsuna is his best friend and Takeshi is his Rain Guardian, after all, and Tsuna tries to be there for all of his battles. And Squalo, well, Squalo is his teacher, and they are currently in Italy, so Takeshi chalks it up to him wanting to observe his progress.

One thing he was not expecting is Hayato. 

It’s raining outside – pouring, really – and it’s uncharacteristically cold for the spring months in southern Italy. Takeshi himself is dripping water, along with sweat and blood, Tsuna and Hayato are both standing under umbrellas. Squalo isn’t, but Takeshi is fairly sure Squalo feels more at home when he’s soaking wet anyway. 

Exhaustion is settling in, now that Takeshi is done fighting. He doesn't like spilling blood, but sometimes he’s forced to – after all, the world is full of people who crave the title of the Sword Emperor, and Takeshi is fairly high on the list of people to defeat in order to pave the way to the final fight against Squalo. His clothes are stained, but most of the blood isn’t his. There’s a gash on the side of his chin that’s bleeding far more profusely that it has any right to, and he’s littered with smaller scratches and bruises all over, but most of the blood on him used to be inside the poor bastard who’s now bleeding in a clearing in the forest he just emerged from. 

He has water in his eyes so his vision is somewhat impaired, but he thinks Hayato is shivering. It’s hard to tell in the rain and with how Hayato is hugging himself under the umbrella that’s doing a semi-adequate job at best. Takeshi wants to run to him, wrap his arms around him, drag him to the car that he knows is waiting, but Hayato wouldn’t stand for that. He has to remind himself that using his sword falls nearly always strictly under Vongola business, and this situation is no different – his status as a swordsman is neatly tied to his status as Tsuna’s Rain Guardian, and although Tsuna is far from strict and formal as the Boss, proper conduct dictates he’s the one Takeshi is reporting to first. 

Tsuna sighs in relief when Takeshi relays to him the information that he left his opponent alive, even if in dire need of medical attention. He goes through the list of his own injuries quick – the gash on his chin seems to be the worst, and he will probably be sore as hell tomorrow – and casts another glance at Hayato. Squalo has already managed to slip out, apparently satisfied, but Hayato isn’t here for the battle; Hayato is here for the aftermath.

It’s not the first time, but Takeshi still finds himself wishing Hayato would stay home. He’s still so profoundly terrified of losing those closest to him that Takeshi just doesn’t want him seeing him hurt, no matter how little. Especially now that Hayato really should be in bedrest, him being here is helping no one. They’ve had multiple conversations about this, some of them actually productive and others ending in screaming and tears, not to mention one particularly terrible instance last year when Takeshi had to drag Hayato to the infirmary because he _could not calm down_.

(That happened two days after Bianchi had almost died. She was still in intensive care. Takeshi takes full responsibility for the outcome of that attempted conversation.)

According to Hayato, being present helps him deal with Takeshi getting hurt. Takeshi still doesn’t think it’s healthy, but he lets it slide time and time again. If he’s being honest, he would rather see Hayato immediately after having to get violent for no purpose at all besides a title that doesn’t even belong to him than have to wait until he gets home, because seeing Hayato makes him feel better. But it can’t be good for Hayato. 

Sometimes he thinks they should just sit down with a marriage counselor to talk about this ridiculous cycle where they both feel guilty about the exact same thing when there’s nothing to feel guilty about, even if they’re not officially married. 

(Yet.)

In the meantime, though, he will continue to feel guilty about making Hayato sad and anxious, and Hayato will continue to feel guilty about making him feel guilty, and… yeah. 

Right now Takeshi is also feeling guilty about the fact that Hayato, who is barely recovering after collapsing just four days ago and could barely stand up yesterday, is standing in the rain waiting for him. He’s sure Tsuna tried to talk him out of it, and he’s equally as sure Hayato said “please” exactly once in a really exhausted tone, and Tsuna didn’t have the heart to argue with him about this. 

Tsuna doesn’t keep him long, just enough to get the general idea of what happened and what needs to happen. Takeshi is grateful for it; Hayato stands just few paces behind Tsuna, and he’s itching to sink his face into silver hair and then get home. 

Takeshi faintly registers Tsuna pull out a phone, but he doesn’t pay much attention to that. The moment their brief conversation is over, Hayato takes a determined step forward just as Takeshi does the same, and they come face to face under Hayato’s umbrella. Takeshi tries to wipe at least some water off his face, but his hand is also wet and his jacket is soaked through. His hair is dripping more water on his face.

Whatever. At least he no longer has to blink droplets off his lashes from obscuring his vision. 

Hayato raises a careful hand to his face, avoiding the generously bleeding cut. His hand is freezing cold and a little shaky. Takeshi mirrors the gesture, thumb coming to rest just below the frame of Hayato’s glasses. He’s only mildly surprised he’s wearing them. 

“Are you okay?” Hayato’s voice sounds rough, though it’s barely audible. There’s a demanding undertone, or maybe desperate. His eyes reflect that, for the brief moment they make eye contact. Then his gaze wanders to all the blood and already-forming bruises, and the hand on Takeshi’s cheek tenses. 

“I am,” Takeshi answers, matching Hayato’s volume. He raises his free hand to cover Hayato’s trembling one, lacing their fingers softly; puts just enough force in to bend Hayato’s wrist so he can press a kiss to his palm. “Most of this isn’t mine, anyway,” he offers with a crooked attempt of a smile. 

Hayato doesn’t look relieved. If anything, his brows furrow and the corners of his mouth take a more intentional downturn. Takeshi takes a moment to observe his face, from the subtle tension in his jaw to the bruises under his eyes, and suddenly wishes for more light. It’s quite dark, however, with the late hour and pouring rain, so discerning whether Hayato’s complexion is still the same paper-white pallor it’s been the past few days is nigh impossible. 

It doesn’t matter. The fact is that Hayato is shivering, and Takeshi is starting to feel the chill settle into his bones, too, now that he’s not moving anymore. 

Moving his hand from Hayato’s cheek to the back of his neck, sliding his fingers under his hair, Takeshi gently pulls Hayato’s head to his chest. Hayato doesn’t protest; his own hand moves in accordance, and Takeshi lets go of it. Lets his arm fall. 

Hayato’s hair is soft. It’s damp, and hasn’t been styled, and if Takeshi closes his eyes and tries to forget about everything else, pressing his face to the top of Hayato’s head and inhaling almost feels like a slow morning after a shower. 

Try as he might, though, he can’t quite get into the scene in his head. There are too many things wrong that Takeshi can’t just ignore, the most pressing in his mind being Hayato’s freezing hands and somewhat labored breaths. His own bleeding chin is a semi-close second. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” he murmurs into Hayato’s hair, and immediately feels the fingers at his neck tighten. 

Hayato takes a shuddering breath. “Do not start,” he says, strained, with just a hint of venom in his tone. 

“I won’t,” Takeshi tells him sincerely. The topic is not something he wants to pursue further, just something he felt was necessary to say. “Are you okay?”

“No,” Hayato replies, and Takeshi feels ice flood his veins, because Hayato _never_ admits it out loud – no, Hayato is the stubborn idiot who screams he’s fine through breathless sobs, the stubborn idiot who insists he’s fine while half-buried in the remnants of a collapsed building barely conscious, the stubborn idiot who dizzily mumbles he’s fine when his knees are actively buckling from under him. Takeshi pulls away as if zapped, the need to see Hayato’s face immediate and pressing, like a fire alarm going off in his head. 

“ _What do you mean_ **_no_** ,” Takeshi almost shouts, barely controlling his volume. He can _taste_ the panic in his voice as he grips Hayato’s shoulders, the motion causing the umbrella in Hayato’s hand to sway so that Takeshi gets a splash of cold water on his back. He hardly even feels it. 

Hayato looks more dismayed than anything else as he retreats his hand from Takeshi’s neck; maybe a little confused. 

“It’s cold, I’m exhausted and in pain, and you’re hurt.” Hayato’s words come slow, like he has difficulty getting them out. His eyes flick to the cut at Takeshi’s jaw before he makes proper eye contact. “So no, I’m not okay.” The line of his shoulders shifts as if bracing for something, and there’s a look akin to defiance in his eyes. Challenging, almost. 

Takeshi loosens his grip and forces himself to take a deep breath. Now it’s his turn to be confused, and it must show on his face – Hayato’s expression is the one he gets when he has to go the extra mile to thoroughly explain something when he was hoping he wouldn’t need to. It’s usually one of Takeshi’s favorite expressions on him, because it’s often followed by Hayato entering full teaching mode. 

That is not the case right now. 

“Oh shit,” Hayato then blurts, face falling, and drops his head. All traces of confidence evaporate. “I’ve been, uh, we talked about that whole honesty and openness thing,” he starts, sounding every bit like this is the absolute last thing he wants to talk about. He switches the umbrella from one hand to the other and makes a generic gesture with his now free hand, presumably related to _that whole honesty and openness thing_. Takeshi has a vague idea of where this is going. 

Hayato won’t look at him. Takeshi won’t make him. 

“So. I figured– I don’t know.” Hayato seems to be curling more and more up to himself with every word, and Takeshi suspects his hands on Hayato’s shoulders are why he hasn’t bolted yet. It’s painful to watch. 

“Hey,” Takeshi says, one hand moving to cup Hayato’s jaw. “You figured you could start with this?” A nod. “That’s a _good_ thing.” 

“No, you freaked right out, it’s fine, I’m fine, you’re not, we should get to the car, Tenth must be waiting already, Sasagawa is driving, he can take a look at your injuries–”

“ _Hayato_.” This is not the direction Takeshi wanted to go to, not here and not this particular conversation. But he started this, and now it’s up to him to guide both of them to the finish line without crashing or sinking on the way there. No matter how much he thinks it would be an absolutely fantastic idea to get to the car, he knows Hayato will not have this conversation with other people present, and by the time they would make back to headquarters Hayato would have closed off completely. No, this is happening here and now. 

Hayato still won’t look at him. Takeshi nudges at his jaw, tries to get him to turn his head, but Hayato only hunches his shoulders more. 

“No, listen to me, hey. I’m sorry,” Takeshi tries. “Yeah, I freaked out. I’ve heard you admit you’re not fine _once_ in seven years.” He leans in to press a kiss to Hayato’s hairline. He doesn’t like to think about that time. He’s fairly sure Hayato doesn’t even remember it – he has massive holes in his memory from that entire year, and although they’ve tried to patch some of them, being seventeen was overall a terrible time to be Gokudera Hayato. Takeshi is mostly fine with him not remembering it. 

Takeshi, however, remembers it vividly. He doesn’t think the sound of Sasagawa’s voice at the other end of the line will ever fade from his memory, the words _“I think he might have tried to kill himself”_ forever hammered into his eardrums. He never got around to asking why it was Sasagawa who called him – he knows for a fact that it was Hibari who found him – but it didn’t matter then and it hasn’t mattered since. 

“When,” Hayato asks flatly, like he knows the answer but wants another anyway. His free hand, previously gripping his own bicep, comes to grasp Takeshi’s wrist. His fingers feel like ice. Takeshi doesn’t flinch. 

“You know when,” he whispers. 

“The hospital?”

“The hospital.”

“Fuck.” Then, “Sorry.”

They stay quiet for a while, Takeshi running his thumb gently along Hayato’s jawline and Hayato breathing unsteadily. Takeshi doesn’t think either of them is going to be staying on their feet much longer.

“Talk to me,” he eventually says. “What brought this up? It’s been a while since we last talked about this.” He doesn’t want to question Hayato’s actions, but Takeshi also knows Hayato does few things without purpose, and self-reflection is not something he does willingly. 

“I, uh.” Hayato snaps his mouth shut. Opens it again, lips working to form words, but ends up closing it. “I had a talk. With Dino-san. About.. this stuff,” he finally mutters through his teeth. “He compared me to Hibari a lot.” 

_That’ll do it_ , Takeshi thinks. 

“He said it makes him feel like Hibari doesn’t trust him when he doesn’t tell him this stuff even though he knows how he works, and I thought that maybe you feel like that too, because I literally _lie_ to you about it and I know you can tell.” Hayato turns to look at him, _finally_ , and Takeshi feels his breath catch. He looks so openly scared that for a second Takeshi almost forgets they’re having a conversation. 

“You know that I trust you, right?” he asks, voice trembling and turquoise eyes wide and terrified. “More than anyone.” 

Takeshi knows. He’s known since their trip to the future that Hayato would trust his life in his hands without batting an eye, would trust his sister’s life in his hands without a second thought, would trust him to protect Tsuna before even thinking it. His actions have proven time and time again that Takeshi has earned his unwavering trust regarding anything and everything he holds even remotely important. Takeshi is also keenly aware that Hayato doesn’t regard himself and least of all his feelings as anything even remotely important, but that’s a whole another can of worms neither of them is going to open now. 

Yes, Takeshi knows Hayato trusts him. 

But he’s never heard it said out loud before. 

“Yes,” he whispers, not trusting his voice. 

And then Hayato’s forehead hits his collarbone and Takeshi is just about to lose it all over again when he hears the soft sigh of “ _oh thank God_ ” against his shirt. Hayato’s shoulders lose all their tension at once and Takeshi has a blink and a half to catch the umbrella before it falls from Hayato’s suddenly non-existent grip. 

He lets Hayato lean on him for a moment, stays quiet for that time and mostly still, too, except for the hand he’s softly petting Hayato’s hair with. By the time Takeshi realizes it, the tremor that was mostly contained in Hayato’s hands has spread to his entire body and is transferring over to Takeshi himself, and as much as he would like to continue this exact moment when Hayato is relaxed for once, they’re both going to be feeling this tomorrow. Tsuna is waiting for them. He needs to write a more thorough report than what he just gave verbally. His chin is still bleeding sluggishly. 

“Should we go?” he asks in Italian, purposefully butchering the pronunciation. As expected, it startles a laugh out of Hayato, who raises his head and tiredly drags one hand over his face. There’s a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He’s mostly soaked, he looks exhausted, he’s shaking like a leaf, and Takeshi doesn’t think he’s ever loved Hayato more.

“Yeah. Let’s go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Toss a comment to your author and maybe come scream with me on Tumblr at [explodoriot](https://explodoriot.tumblr.com)


End file.
